Winter of the Heart
by Flatkatsi
Summary: Sequel to Screams in the Silence. Things aren’t as back to normal as it first appeared. There is still much to be settled.
1. Freezing

Winter of the Heart - Sequel to Screams in the Silence  
  
Chapter One - Freezing  
  
by Flatkatsi  
  
The restaurant was noisy and crowded, and it was only because they were regulars that they had been found a table, attracting the glare of the people waiting at the door. The evening had started pleasantly enough. The idea was, after all, a good one - a chance to unwind and relax after the events of the last few weeks. They had certainly relaxed, or at least half of the team had, after the first bottle of wine. Daniel had relaxed to the point where any inhibitions he may have had about their capture by Rast'ur had been totally lost.  
  
Jack exchanged looks with Teal'c. Neither of them showed any sign of inebriation. Teal'c because, as usual he had restricted his fluid intake to water, and Jack, well, Jack wasn't sure why. It certainly wasn't for lack of trying. He would have given anything not to have to listen to Daniel's current topic of conversation.  
  
"You were just lying there in this pool of blood, Jack. Staring straight at me." His words were slurred. "I wanted to close your eyes, but they wouldn't let me go to you."  
  
"That's enough, Daniel." Jack glanced around the crowded room. The level of noise had covered their conversation, but Daniel's voice was rising as he became more upset.  
  
"You were choking, bleed."  
  
"Stop it, Daniel." Jack finally managed to get the attention of his friend. "We shouldn't talk about this here."  
  
Sam decided to take an interest in the proceedings, looking up from her glass. "The Colonel's right, Daniel. This isn't the place." She lowered her eyes again. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea."  
  
Daniel sat back with a sigh, rubbing his hand over his face. "No, it was a great idea. Go out, act like everything's normal." Sam reached over and touched his arm. He shook it off with a grimace. "But it isn't normal, is it Jack?"  
  
"Daniel." Jack's tone should have been warning enough, but the archaeologist was oblivious.  
  
"You don't get it, do you? We need to talk about it. We need to tell you what it felt like to see you die." He started, looked around as if checking to see if anyone heard, and lowered his voice. "You may be able to forget what happened, but we can't. We aren't as good at forgetting things as you are."  
  
"I believe that you should cease, Daniel Jackson." Teal'c's deep voice cut across Daniel's words.  
  
Daniel turned angrily to the other man. "Why? Because Jack doesn't want to talk about it?" He turned back, lifting his hands in disgust. The look on Jack's face stopped his words.  
  
Jack didn't speak loudly. He didn't have to. The coldness in his voice was enough.  
  
"Forget? I'm not likely to do that, am I Daniel?" He paused, staring into the other man's eyes. "Well, am I? Answer me Daniel. Am I?"  
  
The reply came as a mumble, as Daniel dropped his eyes from his friend's furious glare.  
  
"No."  
  
"Exactly. Just because I don't talk about it doesn't mean that I can forget. The fact that, unlike you, I don't want to bare my soul in a public place obviously hasn't occurred to you." He rose, pulling his wallet from his jacket pocket and leaned forward, his voice still low. "Why don't you let Teal'c and Carter take you home."  
  
"What about you, sir?"  
  
Jack dropped some notes onto the table.  
  
"Me, Carter? I don't know. All I know is that the last thing I want to do right now is talk." He could see the concern on her face, so he continued, more gently. "Don't worry about me, Carter. You get Daniel home."  
  
"I will accompany you, O'Neill." Teal'c pushed his chair back and began to stand.  
  
"No. Thanks, but no thanks. I appreciate the offer, but I don't feel like company right now, and I need you to drive these two home. I'll see you all on Monday, and if Daniel sobers up enough to remember anything, tell him not to worry."  
  
"If you are sure, O'Neill."  
  
"I'm sure, T." He stopped, knowing that regardless of what he said now his team would worry about him. "I'll go have another couple of drinks, unwind a bit before I head home. I'll be fine."  
  
*********************  
  
The smoke in the bar aggravated his throat, but he could put up with a little discomfort. That was all it was - discomfort. Not that solid pain he had lived with for weeks, that awful feeling he still woke up to some nights.  
  
He held up the glass in front of him, and stared into its amber liquid.  
  
Daniel just didn't get it. He had told them what had happened. Told them and the General. All those sordid details he had kept secret until the confrontation with the snake on Thor's ship. They had been horrified to hear the particulars of that lovely little mission.  
  
He had told them the details. He didn't need to talk about how he felt when he had seen them lying dead. They didn't need to know what emotions had run through his head while he buried their bodies. He didn't want to hear Daniel's outpouring of feelings. He knew what it was like to watch a friend die, and he didn't want to be reminded of it.  
  
It was finished, over with.  
  
Nothing else needed to be said.  
  
Jack raised the glass and swallowed its contents down in one gulp, savouring the warmth as it washed down his throat, clearing away the smoke.  
  
The sudden shout was shrill in the almost empty room.  
  
"Everyone. Hands where we can see them."  
  
Jack placed his glass down slowly, and turned.  
  
"Don't move!" The heavy set man pulled the sawn off shotgun towards the movement, pointing it squarely at Jack's chest.  
  
Jack froze.  
  
"When my friend here has finished, he's going to ask you for your wallets. I don't want any arguments."  
  
His companion walked around the bar, pushing the bartender aside to open the cash register and remove the bills. His eyes darted anxiously between the other robber and the few patrons.  
  
Jack watched carefully as the two men worked the room, making each person lie on the floor after they relieved them of their valuables. Only one customer objected, a young man obviously too drunk to realise his danger. The pistol barrel swiftly cut his brief moment of heroism short and he slumped unconscious to the floor, the woman with him crouching next to him, crying silently.  
  
The thinner, sandy haired man held his pistol in steady hands, despite his obvious nervousness. As he came closer Jack could see that it was a Glock, a nice weapon in anyone's language.  
  
"Your turn. Get your wallet out." The pistol wavered slightly as the man gestured. "Slow and steady."  
  
Jack reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, pulling it back slightly as he did so.  
  
"Stop." The man stepped closer and raised the barrel of his gun up, pushing Jack's collar aside. "Come look at this."  
  
"What?" The other man strode over. "Shit! What happened to him?"  
  
Jack felt their eyes fix on his neck, taking in the ridge of scarring that ringed it.  
  
"Pretty impressive. Fight?" The older man's voice had a note of genuine curiosity.  
  
"No." Jack finished getting his wallet out, and held it out.  
  
"Don't want to talk about it? A man with a scar like that has to be either fucking tough or fucking stupid. Which one are you?"  
  
"Neither. Just take the money." Jack kept his voice calm, feeling the frightened eyes of the other people on him.  
  
With a sudden sideways swipe the shotgun stuck Jack across the chest, rocking him back into the bar.  
  
"I'm the one giving the orders around here. I'll take your money when I feel like it. Now answer me. Which are you - stupid or tough?" The man's voice was as calm as Jack's.  
  
Jack straightened up, and stood silently holding out his wallet.  
  
The other man gave a short laugh. "That answers your question. Tough guy here had a run in with the wrong end of one of these and lost." He transferred his gun to his left hand and reached into the waistband of his trousers with the other, pulling out a long, wicked looking knife. His friend watched smiling, as he stood in front of Jack, holding the knife up.  
  
Yeas'r's face leered down at him. Jack watched as, with slow deliberate movements, he raised a large knife and held it before his eyes. Then he lowered it, holding Jack's gaze all the while.  
  
The blade was cold against Jack's throat. Everything seemed to slow down. The sound of his friends faded into the distance, his heartbeat all that he could hear.  
  
He moved.  
  
This time his arms were free. This time he wasn't kneeling. This time his team wasn't watching.  
  
His rigid hand slammed into the bridge of the heavy man's nose, crushing the bone and killing him instantly, his shotgun dropping to the floor. The knife was already in his hands and slicing upwards as the pistol fired from point blank range. He felt the thump of the bullet hit his shoulder, pushing him back.  
  
He didn't fall.  
  
Jack looked down at the two men on the floor, stooped, and picked his wallet up from beside the man with the knife sticking out of his chest, eyes open and staring.  
  
Open and staring.  
  
That reminded him of something. He gave it some thought for a moment and then gave up. Shaking his head to clear it, he put the wallet back into his pocket and walked to the entrance, bright drops of blood falling as he left the building.  
  
The darkness swallowed him up.  
  
********************  
  
The police arrived, within minutes of the bartender's call, to find one victim with a fractured cheekbone and two dead robbers.  
  
There was no sign of their killer.  
  
A trail of blood confirmed that he had been injured, how badly none of the eye witnesses could say - they had been too busy keeping their heads down to take much in. The trail petered out when it reached the far side of the parking lot, lost on the rain soaked pavement.  
  
Finding him would have to wait until morning.  
  
********************  
  
Jack pulled his jacket around himself, shivering in the cool predawn air. The breeze blew in through the broken windows, bringing with it the sound of distant traffic and soft wails of sirens. He sat, cross-legged, concentrating. He knew exactly where he was, knew exactly what he had done, what he had left behind him.  
  
The same sort of thing that he always left behind him.  
  
Death.  
  
There was nothing complicated about it.  
  
Killing was never complicated.  
  
He let his mind empty of all emotion, breathing slowly and evenly.  
  
He shut his eyes.  
  
The blood continued to drip.  
  
*********************  
  
"Oh my god!" Daniel moaned into his cupped hands. "Tell me that I didn't say what I think I said."  
  
"Indeed you did, Daniel Jackson."  
  
Daniel raised his head slightly and opened one eye, trying to see if Teal'c was joking. He didn't look like he was joking. He looked even more solemn than usual.  
  
Daniel dropped his head back onto the cushion, and moaned again.  
  
"He was angry, wasn't he?"  
  
"Indeed."  
  
"I think I'll go throw up now."  
  
"Good."  
  
Teal'c was still standing in his living room when Daniel left the bathroom, collapsing on to the lounge chair once more. He shut his eyes, trying to still the dizziness that threatened to take over all. His memories of the evening were blurred and indistinct, but he remembered the important parts.  
  
He remembered Jack's eyes.  
  
**********************  
  
Jack was sitting in the same position when the light filtered through the holes in the dirty glass. The drip of the collected rain falling from the gutters of the old building became hypnotic. It counterbalanced the sound of his heart as it pattered away in his chest.  
  
It was calming to just sit. For a moment it was just him and the rain. No one to intrude on his thoughts, just calm, sweet solitude.  
  
It was good to be alone.  
  
No questions. No stares. No explanations. No need to be aware of his surroundings. Just a little time for Jack O'Neill to sit quietly and let the world tend to itself.  
  
"Hey, buddy."  
  
He hadn't heard the man approach, something that happened so rarely that it made the soldier within him jump. He reacted instinctively, untwisting and lashing out with his leg, taking the figure looming over him to the ground. His hands were already poised when he pulled back, staring down at the figure in a blue uniform.  
  
He lowered his hands and moved until his back rested against the grimy wall, watching impassively as the cop drew his gun with trembling hands.  
  
He had been so close.  
  
Too close.  
  
**********************  
  
Lou Ferretti was in the gym when the call came for him to go to General Hammond's office. His immediate thoughts were a panicked revision of everything that he had done over the last few days, almost like the many times he had been called to the principal's office in high school. There wasn't anything that he could think of. The off world missions that SG-2 had been on lately had been unremarkable, he had duly written his reports, even submitted them in good time for a change.  
  
No - for once in his life, he was safe from the wrath of his superiors.  
  
He knocked on the General's door with a light heart and a cheery smile.  
  
"Come in, Major, and shut the door."  
  
Lou felt his smile fade at the sight of Hammond's grim face.  
  
"I've got a delicate assignment for you, Major. I just received a phone call. Colonel O'Neill has been arrested for assaulting a police office. I'd like you to go down and sort it out."  
  
"Sure, sir. I'll get down there straight away. Do you have any other details?" It wasn't the first time that Lou had bailed Jack out of jail, but that had been back in their wild youth. Not that their more mature years had turned out to be any less wild, but these days they didn't normally involve the local law, just assorted aliens.  
  
"No, I don't. Apparently he was only picked up a short time ago, and I was called as soon as they ran his ID through the computer." Hammond put down the pen that he was holding, and frowned. "You go back further with the Colonel than anyone else on this base, even further than Doctor Jackson. Find out as much as you can, but mainly, just get him out of there and back here as soon as possible. We'll deal with the fallout later."  
  
The General had one last thing to say before Lou left.  
  
"Oh, and Major - I know that I can rely on you to be discrete."  
  
********************  
  
Lou followed his escort through into the back of the holding cells, passing the large communal ones, filled with the usual assorted dregs, and on towards the one or two single cells.  
  
The burly policeman pulled keys from his belt and placed on in the lock, turning it.  
  
"I'm glad to see the back of your friend. I don't know what his problem is, all I know is that the cop that arrested him told us not to go near him and then went home sick. He's lucky, the paperwork didn't get filled out before we ran his ID." He threw open the door, revealing Jack O'Neill lying on the narrow cot, a thin blanket pulled tight around him. "You can take him. I've been told by higher ups to get rid of him, no questions asked."  
  
"Thanks." Lou was relieved to hear that no charges had been laid against his friend; it certainly made things a lots easier - for the Air Force, if not for Jack. God help him when the General got hold of him.  
  
"Hey, Jack, ready to go?" He moved into the small space, watched curiously by the cop at the door,  
  
Jack sat up, bringing the blanket up with him and holding it tightly at his neck.  
  
"Lou?" His voice sounded uncertain, hesitant.  
  
"Yeah, Jack. It's me. The General sent me to come get you." He glanced over to where the policeman stood listening. Explanations could wait. "Let's get out of here." He saw how his friend held on to the blanket, remembering the terrible scar, and as Jack stood, turned to the policeman. "Can we keep the blanket? I'll see that it's returned."  
  
"Sure, why not."  
  
Jack seemed okay, thought Ferretti, a little unsteady on his feet, but that was only to be expected if he'd been on a bender the night before. The two men made it to the car without any problems, and Lou waited until Jack was settled into the passenger seat before speaking.  
  
"Damnit, Jack not this again. Man, when you go and get plastered like this I should be there too. I thought that we agreed on that the last time."  
  
The last time had been back when the Stargate was first reactivated. Jack had been a changed man when they got back from Abydos, much more at peace with himself, as if the events on the planet had brought him some measure of salvation. Lou had been shocked when an almost paralytic Jack O'Neill had woken him up in the early hours of the next morning. It had taken a cold shower and several cups of coffee to find out the cause.  
  
Sara had left him.  
  
That was when Lou had made his friend promise that if he ever felt the need to get that drunk again, Lou could come along for the ride.  
  
It looked like that promise had been forgotten.  
  
Jack stayed silent as they drove, staring out the window, refusing to answer any of Lou's questions. By the time they reached the base, Ferretti had given up in frustration, his normally good humour worn thin by the emotionless mask on the face of his friend.  
  
Christ, Jack could be a stubborn bastard at times, and this was obviously one of them. When he was in this sort of mood there was no budging him.  
  
Lou just hoped that the General would cut Jack some slack, considering what he had been through in the last few weeks. He had watched the Colonel struggling with the frustration of not being able to speak, and, along with everyone else at the base, had wondered what the future held for him. The sound of his voice when he beamed back from Thor's ship had been music to everyone's ears. Ferretti didn't know many of the details of what had happened on the planet, but it had all seemed to be resolved to everyone's satisfaction, things seemed to have got back to normal.  
  
So what was up with Jack? What had set him off?  
  
As they pulled into the base parking lot, Lou made one more attempt to get some sort of response from Jack. He jumped out, hurrying to avoid the cold rain still pouring down, and moved around to the passenger side door.  
  
"Come on, Jack. Maybe if you keep the blanket over your head the General won't know you're back. You may be able to avoid him."  
  
He was shocked when Jack responded to his joking with a weak smile.  
  
"I doubt it, Lou. I think that I better face the music." Jack pulled the threadbare blanket across his shoulders. "May as well go get it over with."  
  
********************  
  
Jack knew that his silence had concerned Ferretti on the drive up the mountain, but he had needed the time to think. From the minute that he had come back to himself in the abandoned building to when they pulled into the parking lot, he had done nothing but think.  
  
And worry.  
  
He was aware of a coldness running through him, seeping into his bones and making him shiver. It was a coldness that had been with him since Rast'ur's body had fallen to the hard floor of Thor's ship, since he had felt the bones break, and heard the snap of the snake's neck. He had been able to ignore it, keep in the background, until the incident in the bar.  
  
Now the coldness had become a frost, burying his heart in ice.  
  
He was terrified of what would happen to the people around him if the ice cracked.  
  
********************  
  
General Hammond was resting his eyes when the knock sounded on his office door. He had spent the morning trying not to worry about his errant 2IC, but had found it impossible to concentrate on his work, his mind constantly returning to Colonel O'Neill. Finally he had given up, leaned back in his chair, and shut his eyes, trying to will away the headache he felt forming. At the sound of the knock, he opened his eyes, and saw the man in question leaning against the door jam.  
  
"Colonel O'Neill. I see that Major Ferretti was successful."  
  
"Yes, sir, you could say that." The smile with which O'Neill replied didn't quite reach his eyes.  
  
Hammond took in the unkempt appearance of the man standing in front of him, the unshaven face, tired eyes, wrinkled trousers, and the dirty green blanket, and sighed. O'Neill looked like he had spent rough night out on the town.  
  
Not what he expected from the 2IC of his base.  
  
"Come in, Colonel, and close the door."  
  
He waited until the door was closed, and gestured for Jack to sit.  
  
"I'm disappointed, Colonel. I've given you plenty of leeway over the years, I've defended you, and your actions to everyone from the President on down, but I don't know how long I can keep covering for you." He paused and rubbed a hand across his face. "God, Jack. I know that you've had a hard time of it lately, and I'll take that into consideration, but you better have a damned good explanation for this fiasco. Assaulting a police officer! What the hell happened? Are they laying charges?"  
  
He waited for his answer.  
  
**********************  
  
Jack felt like he was watching everything from a distance, as if he was totally divorced from the proceedings. He could hear the General's words, see his suppressed anger, but just could not find the energy to respond to it. He knew that he needed to give his superior an explanation.  
  
It took all his energy to summon up a few words.  
  
"No, sir, they aren't laying charges."  
  
The General was waiting, he knew that. He could see the look of annoyance growing. Somehow, it just didn't seem important.  
  
"Well, Colonel? I'm waiting."  
  
So am I, thought Jack. So am I. I don't know what for, but I do know that it won't be pretty.  
  
He concentrated as hard as he could to hold it in, but he could feel the force growing.  
  
He saw the dead bodies of his team, lying in the hot sun. He saw his son, lying on the carpet. He saw Frank falling, reached out to grab him. Reached out to stop him, reached out to stop them all from dying.  
  
He couldn't hold them all. There were too many, but he tried.  
  
Then he saw the knife in his hand, felt the gun he held to his head.  
  
He should have fired it, but he had been too much of a coward.  
  
It would have changed everything. How many deaths had he caused since that day?  
  
He felt the despair as if he was still there, still digging that cursed hole. It ate away at him and took him captive. Took the best parts of who he was and ground them into the dirty earth.  
  
What remained of him was cold and heartless. It was the part that delighted in the sound of a neck snapping, of a knife tearing into flesh.  
  
Jack shuddered, holding hard to what little good remained.  
  
Blood dripped.  
  
********************  
  
General Hammond waited for an answer. As the silence lengthened his eyes narrowed as he watched Colonel O'Neill. The other man's gaze seemed unfocused, as if drunk.  
  
He had just about had enough of this. He was one short angry breath away from having the Colonel escorted to the brig to sleep it off.  
  
Then O'Neill shuddered, his whole body shaking.  
  
And Hammond saw something drop out from under the blanket and join a dark pool spreading across his carpet.  
  
"God, Jack, what have you done to yourself this time?" He sprang out of his seat as he spoke, rounding the desk, and ripping aside the green cloth.  
  
"Christ, Jack!" O'Neill's upper body on one side was almost completely covered in thick, dried blood, an almost impossible amount, some still slowly seeping from what looked like a bullet hole in his shoulder.  
  
The General grabbed the phone with shaking hands, barking orders, before placing his hand on the wound, pressing as hard as he could. All the while he felt Jack's eyes on him, as if desperate for something to hold on to.  
  
When the Colonel spoke, it was to say the last thing that General Hammond expected.  
  
"I think I need to make an appointment to see Doctor MacKenzie."  
  
************************ 


	2. Thawing

Winter of the Heart  
  
Chapter Two - Thawing  
  
by Flatkatsi  
  
"What's going on?" Daniel Jackson strode angrily towards his waiting team members. His head was still pounding, hours after waking up. His mouth was all furry, and, overall he felt just generally nasty. He had planned a day in bed, building up his energy and courage for the apology he knew that he needed to make to Jack. The phone call to come into the base had been unexpected and unwelcome.  
  
"It's the Colonel. As far as we can tell, he's been injured somehow. Janet's with him now."  
  
"What? How?" Daniel started towards the infirmary doors, only to be stopped by Teal'c's firm grip.  
  
"He's not in the infirmary, Daniel." Sam's voice sounded a little lost, as if unsure of her words. "He's in the OR."  
  
"Why? What happened?"  
  
"That's what I would like to know, Doctor Jackson." The General strode towards them from the direction of the elevators. "Colonel O'Neill has a gunshot wound to the shoulder that appears to be several hours old. Do you have any idea what he was doing last night?"  
  
The three of them exchanged confused looks.  
  
"The Colonel was with us, sir, at least at the beginning of the evening. He left after we ate."  
  
"Where did he go, Major?"  
  
Daniel shifted uncomfortably.  
  
"He informed us that he was going to have a few more drinks, General Hammond. We are unsure as to where he went after that." Teal'c answered.  
  
"He was upset, General," said Daniel, pushing his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. "We had words." He saw the speculation in the General's face, and watched as the older man dismissed it as unimportant.  
  
"So you have no idea where he went?"  
  
"No, sir."  
  
The General frowned. "Colonel O'Neill was arrested early this morning, apparently after assaulting a police officer."  
  
"Assaulting a police officer? Jack?"  
  
"Doctor Jackson, I have my second in command currently in the operating theatre having his shoulder stitched back together after bleeding all over my office. I want to know what happened. If you don't know, then I want you to find out."  
  
Daniel looked at the older man and saw his own shock reflected in his CO's eyes.  
  
Sam touched his arm. "Yes, sir. We'll do our best."  
  
"I will remain here, Major Carter." Teal'c seemed to straighten even further, his stance one of a guard on duty, his eyes on the doors of the operating theatre.  
  
Sam led Daniel down the hallway to her office, quickly pouring him a cup of strong coffee.  
  
He gulped at the hot liquid, hoping that it would clear his brain enough to make sense of the situation. Somewhere between leaving them and the base, Jack had managed to get himself not only shot, but arrested. He had to admit - only Jack could get himself into this sort of situation.  
  
The first step was obviously to contact the Police Department, see if they could shed some light on the subject. It seemed inconceivable that they hadn't known something was wrong when Jack had been in the jail.  
  
He reached for the phone.  
  
*********************  
  
Jack lay quietly, listening to the movement around him. He had woken several minutes ago, but was content to stay silent. He could hear the soft sounds of voices, whispering near him, easily recognisable, the familiar machines humming in counterpoint to the murmurs.  
  
"They can't question him yet. I won't allow it." The Doc's voice was firm.  
  
"I understand that, Doctor Fraiser, but he killed two people. They will need to speak to him as soon as possible, and I expect you to cooperate." The General's voice was just as firm.  
  
At the General's words, Jack's mind flashed back to the events after he left his team. He remembered them clearly, and a part of him still sought enjoyment in the memory.  
  
"Sir, he almost bled out. I still can't understand why he isn't dead, given the extent of his injury. I need to have some answers before I can even think of letting him wake up."  
  
He cracked one eye open, watching the two figures through his lashes. The Doc looked angry, Hammond tired. He waited for a moment longer before speaking.  
  
"Doc."  
  
He watched her start of surprise with a tiny amount of satisfaction. She hurried towards the bed, the General following in her wake.  
  
"Sir. You shouldn't be awake for hours yet." She grabbed his chart, her eyes scanning it rapidly.  
  
"How are you feeling, son?" Hammond leaned over to look him in the eyes.  
  
How was he feeling? He searched within himself for the answer, and came up with the same one that he had decided on back in the General's office.  
  
Dangerous.  
  
"A bit tired, but otherwise okay, thank you, sir."  
  
"I don't understand this." Janet interrupted the two men, her voice puzzled. "It's as if you weren't given any sedative at all, but I've checked the chart. There is something very odd here."  
  
"Odd in what way, Doctor?"  
  
"The Colonel's readings are completed wrong for someone recovering from major surgery, sir. I can't explain it."  
  
"What surgery, Doc?"  
  
Janet looked at the Colonel in surprise.  
  
"You had a gunshot wound, sir. In the shoulder. Don't you remember?"  
  
Jack thought for a moment before answering.  
  
"No, don't remember that at all."  
  
"What do you remember, Colonel?" Hammond's voice was wary, as if reluctant to ask.  
  
"I remember the bar, if that's what you mean, sir. I'm happy to speak to the police. I killed those men in self defence." He saw the others exchange glances at his unemotional tone.  
  
Janet shook her head. "I don't want you to do that until we've worked out what's going on here, Colonel. By all rights, you shouldn't have been unable to walk with an injury as extensive as yours, and yet you managed to not only ignore it for hours, but conceal it."  
  
"It probably had something to do with the amount of alcohol I drank, Doc." Jack couldn't help but grimace at the memory.  
  
"You were drunk when you killed those men?" Jack looked up sharply at the General's tone, and caught the flash of disappointment in his eyes.  
  
"No, sir. I wasn't. I knew exactly what I was doing. In fact, I wanted to be drunk. I went there to get drunk, but it didn't matter how much I drank, I stayed sober." He held up his hand to forestall the Doctor's interjection. "And before you say it - I can tell if I'm drunk or not, and I was stone cold sober."  
  
Janet nodded. "If that's the case, Colonel, then it adds a piece to the puzzle. I'll have to run some more tests, but I think that I may have the answer."  
  
"Care to let us in on it, Doctor Fraiser."  
  
"I think that it may have something to do with the Asgard. I can't see that there is any other explanation." She turned and scanned the monitors before continuing. "With your permission, General, I'd like to attempt to contact them, and speak with the medic that treated the Colonel."  
  
"Certainly, Doctor. Is there any risk to Colonel O'Neill?"  
  
"No, sir. I don't think so, but I'd like to confirm that first. For the moment I want to keep him here in the infirmary. He is recovering from a serious injury, even if he doesn't seem to realise it."  
  
Jack had listened to the conversation dispassionately. As far as he was concerned, the fact that he had been shot, and he couldn't even remember it, was just yet another symptom of his problem.  
  
A problem that he was getting more concerned about by the hour.  
  
********************  
  
Daniel walked as quietly as he could up to Jack's bed. His friend was curled up on his good side, facing the wall, and looked to be asleep. Not wanting to disturb him, Daniel turned to go.  
  
"Yes, Daniel?"  
  
He just about leapt out of his shoes at Jack's voice. The other man turned over, slowly and careful, trailing cords and tubes with him.  
  
"Sorry, Jack. I didn't mean to wake you."  
  
"You didn't. I wasn't asleep."  
  
Daniel hesitated for a minute before launching into his prepared speech.  
  
"I apologise for the way I acted the other night, and for what I said. I didn't mean to imply that you were hurting any less than the rest of us." He could see no reaction on his friend's face, so he carried on. "I know that you handle things differently to me, Jack, and I shouldn't have expected you to do otherwise."  
  
Jack still hadn't reacted, but Daniel could feel the cold gaze of his eyes, just as he had in the restaurant.  
  
Finally the other man spoke.  
  
"Yes, I do react differently. You go out and get drunk and maudlin. I go out and kill people. Obviously we both have to work on our communication skills."  
  
Daniel took a step back, reeling at the words.  
  
"But that was self defence, Jack. It wasn't like you wanted to kill them."  
  
The answer hung in the silence.  
  
"Didn't I, Daniel? You sure of that?"  
  
Jack turned to face the wall again, dismissal clear in his pose.  
  
Daniel left the infirmary, still trying to work out the implication of Jack's words. His own call to the police had been the clue needed to piece the events of the evening together, the question of the missing man from the bar finally answered. He knew that they wanted to talk to Jack to confirm the eyewitness accounts, and Jack would probably have to give evidence at the inquest, but there shouldn't be any other repercussions from the incident.  
  
Now he wasn't so sure.  
  
Daniel hurried off. He needed to talk to the General.  
  
*********************  
  
"Colonel O'Neill?"  
  
It surprised Jack to find that he actually welcomed the sound of MacKenzie's voice. He carefully twisted around, feeling only a slight pull from the many stitches in his shoulder. There was no pain, despite the Doc's decision not to administer any medication until she had spoken with the Asgard.  
  
"The General tells me that you asked to see me." MacKenzie pulled up a chair and sat, settling his white coat around him like a cloak.  
  
Jack tried to ignore the feeling of irritation he had at the sight of the doctor's slightly smug expression.  
  
"Yes, I did." He stopped. He may have asked to speak to the man, but it didn't make doing so any easier. He looked around. "Can you shut the door?"  
  
He waited until the Doctor sat, before speaking again.  
  
"I have a bit of a problem that I would like to discuss with you."  
  
"I must admit to being surprised to receive your request, Colonel. In fact, I was so surprised that I cleared my appointments, so I'm free for as long as you need me."  
  
Jack was amazed at the sincerity in MacKenzie's voice. He had never liked the man, but he did acknowledge the doctor's desire to do the best for his patients. Admittedly, sometimes his best wasn't that good, as witnessed by his treatment of Daniel, but overall he was an excellent psychiatrist.  
  
Just not someone that Jack could feel comfortable talking to.  
  
But he had to talk to someone.  
  
He was beginning to even scare himself.  
  
"I suppose that General Hammond has told you about last night?"  
  
"Yes, he has. You know that you would have been ordered to speak to me about it?"  
  
"Oh yes, I'm well aware of that." Jack couldn't help raising his eyes at the comment. "Of course I know that. I killed two civilians and walked off. I expected the Air Force to have an issue with that."  
  
"Is that what you want to talk to me about, Colonel? The fact that you left the scene?"  
  
Jack shut his eyes and settled back into the pillow. He had to put his concerns into words, stop hiding behind silence.  
  
"It wasn't that I walked away. It was the reason why I walked away that worries me."  
  
"And why was that, Colonel?"  
  
"Because I was scared of what I might do."  
  
He could sense the doctor waiting for him to speak, using that shrink trick of letting the silence lengthen until the patient had to fill it.  
  
It worked, but only because he let it.  
  
"I enjoyed killing them. I didn't even consider disarming them. I killed them without even thinking, and I loved every second of it. I wanted to keep killing." He snapped his eyes open and impaled MacKenzie on them. "I knew that if I didn't leave there then I would have kept on killing, just to experience the pleasure it gave me."  
  
"But you did leave. You killed because you had to, and when you had the chance to kill again, you stopped yourself. You didn't kill the policeman who arrested you. You didn't act on your impulse. Why do you think that was?"  
  
Jack grimaced again. This was exactly why he hated talking to MacKenzie. The obvious techniques, the clichéd phrases and questions.  
  
"You really want to know? Because I spent the whole of that night reminding myself how it felt to kill. I filled myself with the memories of death. I sated myself with it, until I could take no more. Believe me, Doctor, you don't want to know how many memories that involved."  
  
MacKenzie's eyes widened, and Jack just caught the involuntary little glance he made towards the closed door, as if checking that his escape route was clear. He saw the man stiffen before bringing his gaze back to concentrate on his patient. Jack felt a reluctant admiration.  
  
"How long have you had these feelings, Colonel?"  
  
Jack knew the answer to that question without needing to think about it.  
  
"Since I killed Rast'ur."  
  
"Did you enjoy killing Rast'ur?"  
  
Jack couldn't help himself. He remembered the pleasure that he had experienced as he snapped the snake's neck, and knew that his lips had turned up in a feral grin.  
  
"Oh, yeah."  
  
"Why do you think that you enjoyed the Goa'uld's death?"  
  
"Why? Because he killed my team. He killed them, and he made me bury them. He enjoyed it. He wanted to make me suffer." He spoke without thinking, caught up in the memories. "I saw them dead, and knew that I hadn't saved them. It was my job to save them, to get them out of there, and I failed them. Then, he did it again. And I couldn't stop him, again. He told them. He told them what had happened, and they knew. They knew that I had failed them, just like I've failed so many others over the years. So I did the one thing that I knew I could do well. I killed him." He swallowed hard, shutting his eyes again. "And I enjoyed it."  
  
"You feel guilty because you thought that your team had died?"  
  
Jack kept his eyes closed and his voice low.  
  
"Yes, of course I do."  
  
"You weren't angry because Rast'ur had your throat cut? Because he had you killed?"  
  
Jack gave the doctor a puzzled look.  
  
"No. Why would I be angry about that?"  
  
"Most people would be."  
  
"It's a hazard of my profession, Doctor."  
  
"Having your throat cut?"  
  
"No - being killed."  
  
"So to sum up - you killed Rast'ur because he killed your team and gloated about it. You enjoyed killing him. You feel guilty because you enjoyed killing him. Is that correct?"  
  
Jack thought for a second before replying. When he did, it was with reluctance.  
  
"I suppose that about sums it up."  
  
"Do you see where I'm going with this, Colonel?"  
  
"Unfortunately I do."  
  
"When you killed the two men in the bar, what triggered your actions?"  
  
"One of them held a knife up to my face."  
  
MacKenzie allowed himself a small smile.  
  
"Who were you really killing last night, Colonel O'Neill?"  
  
"Rast'ur." The answer came out hard and cold.  
  
"Exactly, Colonel. I don't think that you need to feel guilty about enjoying killing the Goa'uld. Anybody who has been through what you have would feel the same. Do you agree?"  
  
Jack nodded. MacKenzie was right.  
  
"As to your guilt about failing the team - you didn't fail them, did you? You rescued them, and got them home. You did your job, under very trying circumstances, I might add. With injuries that would have had most people barely able to walk." He stopped and spoke firmly, pulling Jack's eyes to meet his. "Colonel O'Neill, we may not see eye to eye, but I have never had anything but respect for you. You are the most honourable man I know. You are the last person that would fail his team."  
  
The response came out slowly, as if dragged from the bottom of a pit.  
  
"Thanks, Doctor."  
  
MacKenzie smiled.  
  
"You are very welcome, Colonel. Now I'll leave you to get some rest and think over what we have discussed. I'll make an appointment for you to see me as soon as you are released. We have more to talk about."  
  
"Okay."  
  
Jack managed to smile as the doctor left the room, before falling back to the bed, suddenly exhausted.  
  
He had a lot to think over.  
  
********************  
  
Doctor MacKenzie headed straight for General Hammond's office. He knew the General was waiting for a report on the Colonel's state of mind. MacKenzie would put his mind at ease. The Colonel was fine, his little crisis of conscience easily cured with a few more sessions.  
  
The Air Force would have their killer back, just as deadly as ever, able to do his job without hesitation.  
  
Hammond wasn't the only one that he took orders from.  
  
Now he just needed to live with himself.  
  
********************  
  
When it came, the answer surprised Janet with its simplicity. The Asgard had been most apologetic; explaining that the sedative they had administered to the Colonel had been slightly stronger than required for human physiology. It had acted like a mild anaesthetic, numbing the Colonel's normal reactions to pain and stimulants. It had saved his life when O'Neill was shot. Unfortunately there was a down side - the sedative would wear off soon, and Janet was uncertain what effects it would leave.  
  
She had the Colonel attached to every monitor in the infirmary's wide repertoire, and was watching him like a hawk. At the moment he was laying quietly, his normal impatience with being in the infirmary nowhere in evidence. He seemed to be thinking, his face pensive.  
  
When it happened, it happened suddenly.  
  
The monitors rang out in frantic counterpoint to the Colonel's cry. "Oh crap!"  
  
"Colonel?" Janet hurried to his side, noting the rapid heart rate.  
  
"It hurts, Doc." He clutched at his shoulder, pressing the bandages hard into the skin, his face becoming pale.  
  
"Is it just your shoulder, Colonel?"  
  
"My head feels like it's about to explode."  
  
Janet studied the readings. This wasn't completely unexpected, in fact it seemed to be closely following one of the scenarios she had planned for. She grabbed the prepared medications, injecting them into the IV running into the Colonel's arm. Within a couple of minutes the readings had returned to normal, and he shut his eyes with a sigh of relief.  
  
"What just happened, Doc?" His voice was still a little tremulous, but his face was already regaining its colour.  
  
She couldn't help smiling.  
  
"That, Colonel O'Neill, was the combined result of a gunshot wound and much too much alcohol. Don't worry, I've given you some good old fashioned Earth drugs."  
  
She could see him fighting to stay awake.  
  
"God! I'll never drink again!" Jack moaned softly, and closed his eyes.  
  
"I doubt that, Colonel, I doubt that" Janet muttered as she sat back down, watching the sleeping man.  
  
********************  
  
"Ready to go, kids?" Jack sat impatiently in the passenger seat of Daniel's car, his long fingers drumming on his lap.  
  
He couldn't wait to get home, only his injured shoulder preventing him from shifting into the driver's seat and leaving without them. He watched out the window as his team walked slowly towards the car.  
  
"Can we go now?"  
  
He saw Carter exchange a grin with Daniel and knew that he had sounded like a petulant child, but he didn't care. He was out of the infirmary and on his way home.  
  
His last session with MacKenzie had confirmed his own conclusion.  
  
He wasn't crazy. He had just been a little unwell. As the Doctor had pointed out it had been only to be expected under the circumstances.  
  
Everything was back to normal now.  
  
His hand reached up, of its own volition, and rubbed at the scar on his neck.  
  
Deep down inside Jack O'Neill the ice grew thicker.  
  
The End 


End file.
